


Destiny (oh a daunting melody)

by MK_Yujji



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Gen, Jaskier is a kid, Pre-Canon, tw: absuive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25123552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MK_Yujji/pseuds/MK_Yujji
Summary: Julian is almost 10 the day a Witcher rides into Lettenhove to save them all from a monster...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	Destiny (oh a daunting melody)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aoigensou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoigensou/gifts).



> Things to be aware of :  
> 1\. I've played with the timeline a bit here - altho, I'm still not 100% sure what the official timeline actually _is_ , so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. With that in mind, this happens shortly before the situation with Renfri.  
> 2\. Jaskier's parents are Not Good People. There's no hitting 'onscreen' as it were, but there are plenty of references or instances of them being neglectful or outright abusive. If that's triggering for you, please protect yourself and skip this work entirely or have someone else read it for you to see if it's within your levels of toleration.  
> 3\. Although I managed to avoid having to deal with writing out a monster fight, there _is _a monster and that means there are icky dead bodies.__
> 
> There are notes about the monster in question at the end because I didn't realize until I was almost done that the monster I chose from elsewhere has actually appeared in Witcher canon (the games, I think). I decided changing some canon points was going to be easier than spending another few weeks trying to come up with another monster that would suit my needs.
> 
> _The poem I derived the title from is Arun Ajmera's poem "Destiny"._  
> 

"What are you doing out here!? Inside, you little brat! I _know_ you were warned we were having a visitor today."

"But mother, I just wanted to see him," young Julian Alfred Pankratz protests, softly. It's not quite a whine; after all, whining is a good way to get a backhand, but it's closer than he'd usually dare around either of his parents.

He's been hearing stories of the Witcher's deeds and of their general unnaturalness for almost two weeks since his father sent for help with their monster infestation. It's absolutely fascinating and Julian just wants a tiny peek to see if this Geralt of Rivia is as monstrous as the stories all say.

The cook told the baker that the Witcher had two heads! Julian simply has to see that for himself.

His mother isn't persuaded, though. "You'll stay out of his way unless you want to end up monster bait. I can promise you no one else will save you if he gets his hands on you, brat. Now go clean up. You're filthy."

Julian peers down at his hands and has to concede he hadn't been as careful as he could have been about crawling around the bushes looking for the perfect place to both hide from everyone and get the best view. He probably should have just climbed a tree, but the last time he'd done that he hadn't been able to sit for a week straight.

Before either of them can move, a cry goes up.

Twisting around, Julian can see a crowd gathering around a figure on a horse. He can hear the shouts and jeers even from where he and his mother stand, but no one actually attacks the figure.

Everyone knows that the Count sent for a Witcher, but they're clearly eager to make sure that he knows how very much they don't like it.

Which makes no sense to Julian. If the Witcher is here to kill the monster that's been killing the peasants, they should be welcoming him like the hero he is with a feast, not calling him bad words. 

Then again, they've never been particularly welcoming to him _either_ and he was born and raised right here. He's not sure why people are the way they are, but he does know that most of the people he's met aren't particularly nice, not like they are in the stories he hears or the poetry in the library. Mother scoffs whenever she catches him struggling to read the tiny cramped print in some of the books of poetry, but she hasn't stopped him yet. That's practically permission, right there.

Fingers grasp tightly around his arm as his mother shoves him in the direction of the servant's entrance. "Go. Stay out of sight and don't cause any trouble."

She's misjudged, though, and all she manages to do is send him sprawling into the path just as the Witcher nears their position.

There's a moment when he's sure the horse is about to turn him into a bloody smear in the dirt, but it pulls up just short of his head. "Whoa, girl. Whoa."

Julian flops bonelessly in relief. He doesn't think he'd make a very good blood smear.

After a moment, gold eyes peer down at him from great height, surrounded by pale white hair. "You alright?"

"Oh don't mind me," Julian says, waving a careless hand. "Just thought I'd cloud gaze for a bit."

"Hmm…” Lips quirking, the Witcher gives him a once over, frowning at the red band around his forearm. "I'm sure there are safer places for cloud gazing."

"Eh, life isn't safe." He's surprised the Witcher doesn't realize that already. Seems like the sort of thing a Witcher ought to know. 

Golden eyes glanced back at his arm and then up at where his mother was glowering at them both but making absolutely no move to protect her son from the strange Witcher. "Clearly."

There's another long pause before the Witcher dismounts his horse and reaches a hand down.

Julian can only stare at it for a long moment, startled by the gesture. No one ever dares to help him even this much when either of his parents are standing _right there_. It's a good way to find themselves unemployed at best, sometimes even sharing Julian's punishment.

Apparently the Witcher doesn't care. That’s… that's marvelous is what that is.

Julian grins up at the Witcher and takes his hand. "Thank you, Master Witcher! My name is Julian Alfred Pankratz. What's your name?"

The Witcher looks a bit bemused, but after another long look at Julian's mother, begins shepherding him towards the entrance. "Geralt. Of Rivia."

"I've never been to Rivia. Is it nice there?"

"Hmm..."

Peering up at the newly named Geralt of Rivia, Julian wonders what would make a place nice to a Witcher. Lots of monsters to kill? Or maybe none at all?

What exactly does a Witcher do for fun?

"I bet it's nice," Julian decides. After all, it apparently produced people who weren't afraid of helping others. That automatically made it nicer than Redania. Although, perhaps that's unfair. It isn't as if Julian has actually seen any other part of Redania than his father's lands. He puts it out of his mind to focus on his companion. "What do Witchers do for fun?"

Geralt just shrugs his shoulders. "Sleep."

Julian wrinkles his nose. He likes to sleep as much as the next person, but he isn't sure he'd call it _fun_. Clearly someone needs to show Geralt the difference.

Word has apparently gotten to his father because they don't make it all the way to the main entrance before the man himself appears.

He looks furious and his focus is entirely on Julian.

It's instinct more than anything else that has Julian slipping ever so slightly behind Geralt's bulk. That looks means he's going to be in for a very unpleasant week.

The Witcher frowns down at him, but straightens up enough to draw the Count's attention away from his son. "Lord Pankratz. Your letter said it was urgent."

"So it did," the Count allows his attention to shift, but Julian doesn't fool himself that his transgression has been forgotten. His father will simply punish him later when business is concluded. "If you'll join me in the study, I have all the information we've managed to gather. We can discuss the situation there."

Geralt dips his head in agreement and follows his new employer inside.

Julian sighs as he watches them depart.

It's worth it, he decides as he squares his shoulders and turns back to face his mother. Meeting the Witcher was absolutely worth whatever punishment she and his father feel like meting out.

~*~*~

Julian takes his punishment without complaint. It's honestly not as bad as he'd been expecting, though it'll be days before he can sit comfortably.

He's told in no uncertain terms that he is not to go near the Witcher and that's that.

He's very careful not to actually agree, so at least when he gets in trouble again, it won't be for lying.

~*~*~

Geralt isn't hard to find.

For the duration of his contract, the Viscount had agreed to put him up at the largest inn in town with food and baths included as part of his fee.

Julian has an unspoken understanding with the innkeeper, Miss Poppy. As long as he stays quiet about being there, she won't rat him out.

He slips in the back door and through the kitchens, waving at the innkeeper as he passes. She grabs his arm before he can get far, though, and he has to grit his teeth not to his as her fingers tighten around the bruises already forming there. Luckily, she lets go quickly. "Be careful, child. There's a monster and a mutant roaming around and there's nothing to say that one o' em don't have a taste for little ones."

"I'm not little," Julian protests because it's the most important part. Honestly, he knows he’s still a bit on the short side, but it’s like she thinks he’s still in nappies. “And I've already met Geralt. He's not going to eat me."

Miss Poppy gives him a long, skeptical look. After a moment she sighs and waves him on. "It's on your head if you get caught. I won't risk my own to save you from a _Witcher_."

Past visits say she won't risk herself to protect him from _anyone_ , Witcher or not, but Julian just shrugs with agreement. "Promise."

Then he slips past her and stands on his tip toes, trying to spot Geralt in the dining room.

There aren't many people sitting around the room, drinking or eating, and none of them pay him any mind as he weaves around until he finally spots his quarry in the back most corner of the room.

The Witcher has chosen the deepest, darkest corner of the inn like some kind of character from a fairytale. He's all alone and sunk in on himself, trying to look small or something.

Julian doesn't like it.

He slides up onto the bench across from Geralt, pulling his legs up to sit crosslegged and leans his elbows on the table. "Why aren't you eating?"

Geralt shrugs, glancing sideways at the bar. He's quiet for long enough that Julian doesn't think he's going to answer. The Witcher finally sighs. "No food."

That seems wrong. He just passed through the kitchens, after all, and there was plenty of food lying around. But perhaps there's nothing ready to eat? No, he'd _definitely_ seen some stew bubbling on the hearth. Which meant it's probably more to do with who's asking than what's available. He can certainly do something about _that_. "Be right back."

He hops off the bench and runs back to Miss Poppy. She just sighs as he approaches and puts her hands on his hips. "What now?"

Of all the people in Lettenhove, Miss Poppy is one of the few who have proven at least mildly susceptible to puppy eyes and he employs them now, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. "Can I please have some stew for myself and my Witcher friend, Miss Poppy?"

She frowns at him and glances over his shoulder, presumably at Geralt. Then she looks back down at him, clearly wavering.

He tries to look as cute as possible. He thinks it might be losing effect as he’s getting older because she’s never managed to hold out this long. “Please?"

Finally Miss Poppy sighs and rolls her eyes at him. "Oh fine. Go. I'll bring them over in a moment."

"Thank you, Miss Poppy. You are surely the most wonderful innkeeper in all the Continent!" He near chirps as he darts in to give her a quick hug and runs back to the corner booth where Geralt is still brooding.

She might not be willing to protect him from Witchers or common drunks, but she's always willing to feed him. He secretly thinks that she wanted to be the cook at the manor and is still bitter that she wasn't chosen and this is her subtle way of thumbing her nose at the Count.

He has no idea if it's actually true or not, but it's the best theory he's been able to come up with.

Geralt is just watching him with a strange look on his face when he returns. "What?"

"Hmm...."

Julian rolls his eyes. "That's not a proper answer, you know. When someone asks you a question, you're supposed to answer it. With _words_."

Not that adults seem to care about answering any questions asked by anyone under the age of _ancient_.

There's a long pause and then just a flicker of amusement before the Witcher just hmm's at him again.

Giving it up as a lost cause, Julian is cheered when Miss Poppy arrives with the requested food. Her arms are laden with a full meal, as steady as castles. He’s seen her balance a spread big enough for a dozen rowdy men without so much as a bobble and it never stops being amazing.

She sets a bowl of soup in front of each of them followed in short order by bread, cheese, and a glass of milk. Well, Julian rather suspects she's not giving the _Witcher_ milk, but he's had ale before and it was the grossest thing he's ever had in his mouth and that includes the time one of the stableboys pushed him down into a pile of manure. 

There's a moment of silence as the adults stare at each other, but Julian can't be bothered to try to figure out what sort of madness goes on in adult heads, so he just digs in.

Part of his punishment had been a distinct lack of dinner and he's _starving_.

Apparently his fervor is enough to break though whatever silent standoff Miss Poppy was having with the Witcher. She frowns at his rapidly emptying bowl. "I'll go get another bowl."

Then she's gone and he's left alone with a Witcher frowning just as hard. "Don't they feed you in that manor?"

Julian shrugs and makes sure he's completely chewed and swallowed his food before he responds. "Sure. Except when I'm in trouble.”

"Hm."

Disapproval drips from the sound and Julian squints up at Geralt, trying to see if it's aimed at him. It doesn't seem to be, but he slows down regardless. He has been eating perhaps just a bit fast for decent manners.

Geralt watches him for another long moment before turning his attention to his own stew. The Witcher is eating almost as fast as Julian was and after a few quick bites, he takes it as permission to go back to filling the hole where his stomach used to be.

He's only just finished the first bowl when Miss Poppy drops the second in front of him and ruffles his hair in a rare show of affection. "Don't choke on it, boy."

"Yes, Miss Poppy! Thank you!"

"'S Good," Geralt offers quietly. There's a pause and then an even quieter - "Thank you."

Julian isn't sure who looks more surprised, Geralt or Miss Poppy. He hides a grin with his bread as Miss Poppy gets flustered and mutters a quick ‘you're welcome' before disappearing to help someone else.

Geralt seems to notice his grin and rolls his eyes. "Eat."

Neither of them speak again until after the food is completely gone. Geralt even shows him how to use his bread to sop up the last traces of stew on the sides of his bowl.

"Why are you here?" The Witcher rumbles, one brow arched.

Shrugging, Julian shifts back in his seat and pulls up his legs so that he can wrap his arms around them and settle his chin on his knees. "I've never met a Witcher before. Cook said that Witchers have two heads, so I wanted to see, but you don't have two heads at all."

"Well, I suppose that depends entirely on your point of view."

Julian is confused. He looks at Geralt's broad shoulders where one single neck with only one single head is clearly visible. Perhaps Geralt has been hit in the head too many times? He's heard that it can affect a person's brain in odd ways. He wonders if Geralt has been going along all this time thinking he had two heads.

That won't do. Julian doesn't want to be the bearer of bad tidings, but he can't let his new friend go on thinking he has two heads. He uncurls from his seat and settles his elbows on the table so that he can more easily make eye contact. The Count always says that's how people know you're serious. "Geralt. I very much hate to inform you of this, but you only have one head."

A huff of laughter escapes the big man and Julian wonders what's funny, but dismisses it as unimportant. He made the Witcher laugh! He wonders how many can say that.

He beams back, thrilled with how well this is going.

Then he pauses because Geralt certainly doesn’t have two heads, but he _does_ have yellow cat’s eyes. Somehow, Julian isn’t sure how he missed that before. “Why are your eyes like a cat’s? Are Witchers shifters?” 

"It's late. Shouldn't you be at home in bed?" Geralt tries again, a bit more abruptly, like he doesn’t like having attention brought to them. 

"Probably." Julian concedes, willing to let it go for the moment, but desperately curious. "But you're here and that's far more interesting than _sleep_."

Geralt sighs, but Julian recognizes capitulation when he sees it. And sure enough, when Geralt speaks again, it isn't to send him away. "What do you know of the monster?"

"I know that everyone says it's eaten over a dozen workers in the eastern most fields. A lot of the ones left won't go there at all anymore. The baker's son usually lives out there, he's sweet on a healer who lives in the forest at the edges of my father's lands. But since the monster started eating people, the baker made him move back into the village where it's safer. But he's been more annoyed than sad since then, so I think the monster probably hasn't gotten his love yet."

"You ever seen this healer?"

Julian thinks for a second, but eventually shakes his head. "I don't think anyone has. There were rumors it might be an elf or a boy and that's why they were so secretive about it."

Geralt watches him for a long moment. "What do you think?"

"I think it doesn't matter because the baker is never going to let him marry whoever it is. If they want to be together, they'll have to go far away."

"Hmm..."

Julian considers everything else he's heard about the monster. He's overlooked often enough that he's overheard quite a few conversations. "There's been all sorts of rumors about the monster, but I don't think anyone has any idea what it might be. No one who actually saw it returned alive and since the fourth or fifth died, no one has been very keen to go out looking."

"The Count said that he believed it was a ghoul."

That's news to Julian. "Odd. He said he didn't know this morning."

Nodding, Geralt looks down with a frown. "Could anyone have brought him more news before I arrived?"

Julian shrugs. "I guess? But I didn't see anyone arrive but you."

And it would have been hard to get into the manor past Julian. He'd spent most of the morning along the path trying to find the best place to hide before his mother had caught him and then... well, by then the Witcher had arrived.

Another nod and then Geralt stood up. "I'm going to sleep for the night. I suggest you do the same."

"Fine," Julian is definitely whining, but honestly! It isn't _that_ late. He had no idea that Witchers went to bed so early. "I'll come back in the morning to show you around."

"I can find my own way."

Julian rolls his eyes. "Obviously. But you can't magically find the tree where the baker's son and the healer meet or where Josef the Butcher used to swear he saw creepy snakes or-" he pauses and reconsiders, peering at Geralt for a long moment. "Can you? Just... wiggle your fingers -" he ignores the way Geralt rolls his eyes at his physical demonstration of the assumed witchery magic "-and the ground tells you?"

"Hmm."

Geralt is clearly used to being able to simply stonewall people, but Julian knows he's more than a match for that. He smiles and leans forward to prop his chin on a fist. "If you leave without me, I'll just follow you. Imagine all the trouble I could stumble into on my own."

That gets him a glower, but Julian isn't overly worried. He absolutely isn't bluffing. It's been said that his knack for finding trouble is far greater than his common sense and he knows it better than anyone.

"Go to bed."

"See you tomorrow."

~*~*~

Usually Julian has lessons until after the afternoon meal, but his tutor has lost family to the attacks and is personally terrified of the very idea of Witchers. She's succumbed to vapors no less than a half a dozen times since the announcement was made that the Count would be calling one into the area.

It means that he's been left to his own devices for the most part. That doesn’t seem like it’s going to change despite getting caught where he wasn’t supposed to be the day before. After gaining permission to take a botany book out to the gardens, it's easy enough to simply keep going and slip out through the overgrown path that leads towards the village.

He whistles to himself as he skips towards the inn. He'd barely been able to sleep the night before, mind full of adventure. The entire idea of following along on the Witcher's monster hunt is simply too exciting.

It's not that he doesn't feel sad for the men who have died, exactly. But he'd only known them vaguely in passing and none of them had ever been particularly nice to him. Probably they didn't deserve to die, but they didn't much deserve his grief, either.

And honestly, monsters and a hero arrived to save the town? That's practically an epic ballad in the waiting, right there.

The sight of white blonde hair and an uncomfortably familiar horse makes him grin. Clearly Geralt had understood that Julian would absolutely follow behind if he was left behind.

"Good morning!"

"Hmm." A severe frown is leveled at him, but Julian pays it no mind as he reaches up to let the horse sniff at his hand. And perhaps also to slip her the apple core from his breakfast.

"Aren't you a pretty girl? Thanks so much for not turning me into a bloody patch yesterday." Warm breath huffs over his fingers before silky lips pluck the core. "What's your name, pretty girl?"

Obviously the horse can't answer, but Geralt refuses to either. Julian just shrugs it off. He has no problem just calling her pretty girl and he doesn't think she'll mind much.

He pats her snout in commiseration. If the horse can't talk and Geralt won't talk, does that mean they just march on in silence all the time? How awful. He can't imagine it's much fun being stuck with someone who doesn't talk much.

"So. Did you decide where you want to go first?"

Sighing, Geralt finally deigns to speak. "I need to see where the men were taken from first."

That makes sense to Julian and he gives the horse a final pat before turning back the way he'd come. "This way."

As he leads the Witcher out of town and towards the western most fields, he keeps up a steady conversation. He's pretty sure the horse answers more frequently than Geralt does, but he doesn't mind much. The occasional grunt or ‘hmm' is enough to tell him that his companions are listening and really, that's all anyone could ask for. He tells Geralt everything he can think of related to each of the victims and how they'd been found, points out places of possible interest. Most of it is purely related gossip, of course, but he had seen at least two of the victims in the undercroft while the Count's men had been looking them over for clues.

Once he's run out of that, he talks about the healer and the baker's son, about the baker and the cook, about the poetry he's read about monsters, and his own fanciful ideas of what it could be.

Twice he gets distracted by their surroundings and starts rambling about flowers and horses, but Geralt doesn't tell him to stop and doesn't push the horse to leave him behind.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Geralt breaks in when he pauses for breath at one point.

It's the sort of random statement that might usually hurt his feelings, but for once it doesn't sound as mean as he is used to. It just sounds curious, maybe even a little interested.

Julian can't help but smile at the idea. "Not even for sleep."

That's not true, obviously. There are plenty of times when he has to stay quiet to avoid punishment or discovery or any number of things. At the core of his being, though, is a talker.

Geralt's huff sounds amused.

"Anyways, the workers were almost all taken from the field just over the next hill. The first six from near the tree line - no one goes near it anymore - and three from the fence line near the road. Another was killed in the field where the rest were and dragged into the forest itself. Or at least, that’s what the Captain of the Guard says. I’m not actually sure which one that was, though.“

"Almost all?"

"Oh yes. One was taken from the well nearer town and one on the road you used to come into town."

The horse stopped moving and Geralt's face twisted into something Julian couldn't read well. Aggravation, perhaps. "The Count didn't say anything about any of the victims being closer to town."

"Well, he wouldn't, would he? The one at the well was the seventh and the one on the road he refuses to believe is the same monster. He still waited for another two deaths before he called for help. He doesn't like being wrong and he really doesn't want the peasantry to rise against him."

Geralt stares at him for a long moment. "How old are you?"

“Ten.” Or near enough, anyway.

"Hmm."

They began moving again, the Witcher's curiosity apparently sated for the moment.

Over the crest of the hill, the field nearest the forest line was going to seed. No one had dared come out here to harvest and beasts from the forest had definitely taken advantage of it.

He'd heard the Count raging about how no one would harvest the fields and the winter wheat wasn't getting planted. The disruption would be disastrous not only for their human peasants but also for the horses that had made Lettenhove famous.

Privately, Julian was sure the Count cared more about the horses than the people, but it all came to the same ends if it meant he finally got help.

Geralt dismounts and pats his horse, murmuring softly to her. Julian perks up a bit when he hears him call her ‘Roach'. It's such an odd name, but she doesn't seem to mind it much.

He moves closer, though he pauses in surprise when Geralt thrusts the reins into his hands. "Stay here. Roach, watch him."

"You do realize that of the two of us, I'm the one that's actually human, right?"

"Exactly. Now stay."

Part of Julian wants to protest that he's not a dog, but he's well aware of the value a horse can have and he can understand not wanting to leave one alone in a provenly dangerous spot. He's not really sure if Geralt meant for Roach to be watching him or him to be watching Roach, but he supposes it doesn't really matter.

He watches as Geralt moves along the wheat, crisscrossing the rows and pausing here and there to do things Julian can't actually see from where he is.

Eventually, he gets bored and turns to the horse instead. "So, Roach, hm? I wonder why he decided to name you after a fish."

Roach makes a huffy noise at him and nibbles on his hair, making him laugh and push her muzzle away from his head. "All right, sorry! I'm not saying it's a _bad_ name. I just wonder what leads one to it, is all. I just want to know your _story_. Everyone has one, you know.... Some are more interesting than others. Mine, for instance, is pretty boring. Some day, though, I'll be out there making a more interesting one. I bet yours is better than most epics."

He isn't sure, but it seems very much like she can understand him.

"The stories you could tell if only you had a voice..."

A heavy weight falls on his shoulder and Julian can't help the way he flinches away from it, though he does manage to contain the urge to scream.

"Whoa...." When he twists around, Geralt is backing off with his hands raised. "Just me."

Julian has to take a few deep breaths to try and get his rabbiting heart back under control. "I knew that."

"Hmm."

He clears his throat and pats Roach's neck. "So um... did you find any clues?"

There's another long moment of silence - and really, that seems to be the Witcher's natural state, poor Roach - before he nods slowly. "It's not a ghoul."

Julian waits for more, but that seems to be the extent of it. He sighs and rolls his eyes. Honestly. Why Geralt thinks it's okay to just _leave_ it at that, as if the curiosity wouldn't drive Julian spare, is beyond him. "So what is it?"

"I'm not sure yet. Show me the well."

~*~*~

After a visit to both the well and the spot where one victim’s abandoned wagon had been found on the road into town, Geralt asks to see the bodies.

His expression has grown steadily more troubled as they go, but he refuses to say what's bothering him no matter how cunningly Julian manages to work it into the conversation.

Which is still mostly one-sided. He talks and Geralt hums and Roach snorts. It's not much to work with, but Julian has dealt with worse. And really, he's kind of enjoying being allowed to say whatever comes to mind without being told to shut up and go away.

Geralt makes up for whatever he lacks as a conversationalist with a solid presence that never becomes threatening. It's nice.

He continues his chatter, sprinkling it with random questions that mostly remain unanswered. 

The few times he _does_ get a real response - actual words, not just an endless variation of ‘hmm’ - is when he he relays a story of one monster or another that he’s heard of and ponders whether or not it could be the monster stalking the town. The inaccuracies seem to be a genuine irritant, which is frankly hilarious.

Even funnier is the way that Geralt never seems to realize that Julian is deliberately wracking his brain for the weirdest, most unlikely creatures he can think of. More than one, he’s made up himself.

It’s dark in the undercroft where the bodies are being stored and the air is heavy in a way that Julian isn’t overly fond of, but he doesn’t feel particularly unsafe. The living have always been more dangerous than the dead, after all, and he’s got a Witcher at his side even if things do start to take a turn for the worst. It’s still creepy enough that his voice stills in his throat.

Dead bodies aren’t his favorite thing in the world.

A little more than half were actually buried. The rest are laid out on the floor, covered in sheets of cloth.

Julian isn’t entirely sure why they weren’t all either buried or left in the undercroft. It’s one of the few things no one seems to be gossiping about.

Geralt removes the sheet off the first body and kneels down to examine it closer. He peers closely at the wounds and shifts the skin around with surprisingly gentle fingers.

There’s a noise that makes Julian snort in amusement. “Did you really just sniff him?”

He’s not really expecting an answer, so he nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise when Geralt replies almost immediately. “Some poisons and venoms have peculiar aromas. As do certain magics.”

Grinning, Julian nudges at the Witcher’s back. “Good job on using your words, Geralt!”

That only gets him a sigh, but he doesn’t mind. His attention is on the particularly gruesome hole where the man’s throat and chest had been. Julian hasn’t really got the stomach for that sort of thing and he immediately leans back so it’s out of sight again. “What does he smell like?”

Besides death and rot, because even Julian can smell that. His stomach does it’s very best to relocate itself outside his body, but he refuses to give Geralt any excuse to make him leave.

“Hmm…” Geralt doesn’t answer, just covers the body back up and moves to the next. And then the next.

By the last one, his frown is mighty indeed.

He sits back on his hatches and stares at the neat row of sheet covered dead men. “The people here…. Would you say that they’re unusually cruel? Mean-spirited?”

That’s not something Julian feels comfortable talking about, but when he doesn’t say anything, Geralt tilts his head and stares at him, one eyebrow arched in a way that says neither of them are moving until he gets an answer.

Julian shrugs and looks away. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been anywhere else.”

“But you read.”

Obviously the freedom to talk about anything and everything had gotten away from him. He can’t deny that since he’s spent the morning chatting Geralt and Roach’s ears off about it. It bursts out of him, a dam broken in the face of a Witcher’s implacability. “Yes. They’re mean. Almost everyone. Miss Poppy and the baker’s son are about the nicest people around and even they’re afraid to show it. No one helps anyone with anything. They love to gossip about each other and there isn’t a one that wouldn’t stab their mother or child in the back if it gave them a leg up.”

A gentle hand touches his arm just over the bruises he still has from yesterday’s drama. “They hurt you.”

He sighs and rubs a hand through his hair, tired all of a sudden. “It is what it is. What does any of it have to do with the monster?”

“You asked what I smelled.” He waves down at the body closest to them. “The forest. There’s no venom or poison that isn’t already part of their own bodies. That’s rare enough to be almost an impossibility. I believe that the nature of the people here has poisoned a Leshy.”

That’s… Julian sits down and drops his head into his hands. He’s actually heard of the Leshy. They’re supposed to be forest dwelling gods, the guardians of the ancient wood. 

They’re not monsters, not really. If anything, the elves had considered them a _good_ thing, something that kept the monsters away.

How absolutely awful and yet utterly unsurprising that Lettenhove has managed to turn one evil.

“Isn’t killing a Leshy basically impossible? Also, horribly bad luck?”

He isn’t sure how much of what he’s read is actually true, but given what the Leshy are meant to be, it doesn’t sound like a good idea to kill one. Especially given the way the entire ‘god’ thing seems to hint at immortality. 

“Hmm…”

Julian huffs and rolls his eyes. He’s afraid it would take literal years to get The Witcher to manage basic conversation with any degree of ease. “Can you … I dunno… un-poison it?”

“Purify it,” Geralt corrects absently as he stares back down at the bodies. “Possibly. But not easily. And not if it stays here. It’d just become corrupted again.”

Which, fair. If cruelty is what’s caused it’s corruption, Lettenhove isn’t a good place for it. To be rid of every single cruel person in the village, would be to be rid of the village itself. And the manor. Possibly the next village over since Julian is fairly certain that a few of the people who have married in cake from there and really aren’t any better.

He doubts Geralt telling the Count that the only way to be free of a man-eating monster is for everyone to be nice would go over well. At the very least, Geralt would be laughed out of town.

Yellow eyes peer at him through the dimness of the undercroft, faint light reflecting off them from the nearby torch. He wants to ask again if Geralt is some kind of cat, but he bites his tongue. Perhaps when the Leshy is dealt with, the Witcher will be more willing to answer such questions.

Geralt pushes himself back up and once again reaches out a hand to help Julian up. It’s just as thrilling as it was the first time. 

“So what are you going to do?”

“Whatever it takes.”

~*~*~

The sound of raised voices sends a shiver down Julian’s back as he presses himself into a nook near the study and settles on the floor with his back against the wall. 

Geralt had gone to tell the Count what he’d found and has spent forever trying to make them understand. 

It’s not the least bit surprising that the Count and the Captain are refusing to accept that the entire situation is Lettenhove’s fault.

As far as they’re concerned, a monster is the same as any other beast in the forest, except that it’s harder to kill. They certainly have no respect for the Leshy or regret for what’s been done to it.

All they care about is that Geralt keeps his ‘outlandish accusations’ to himself and whether or not he can kill it.

Under the blustery shouting, Geralt’s quiet rumble is unmoved. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything, simply explains that if the Leshy is killed - or even if it were to simply leave - Lettenhove would essentially wither and die. They don’t seem to grasp that all of the area’s rich farmland and forests are owed entirely to the Leshy.

The Count won’t hear of it, though. He simply orders Geralt to do the job he was paid for and asks the Captain to escort him out of the manor.

Julian slips away before the door can open, knowing full well that it wouldn’t do to be caught eavesdropping. He wants to keep going, to slip out of the manor entirely and head for the inn where Poppy’s stew and milk waits and he can meet up with Geralt and talk about what they’re going to do.

Sadly, he knows he can’t avoid dinner with his parents and if he wants to avoid adding to the trouble he’s already going to find himself in, he suspects he’d better wash up before anyone else sees him.

~*~*

“Captain Gregorevich says that you were following The Witcher around today,” the Count says mildly over the final course. 

The entire meal has been tense and silent. He’s used to being discouraged from talking at the dinner table, but generally his parents go over their own days or the plans for upcoming tasks. 

They’ve been glaring at each other instead of him for once and he has no idea what to make of it. He can’t say he thinks they particularly _like_ each other, but outside their bed chambers, they’ve always taken care to at least present a united front. This frosty hostility aimed at each other is … disturbing.

“Yes, sir.” Julian says quietly, watching them closely, trying to find clues for what exactly is about to blow up in his face and why. He knows that his mother had warned him away from doing that, but the Count doesn’t sound accusing. Only.. curious? “No one else was willing to show him where he needed to go.”

And there’s his mother’s glower landing solidly on him. He looks down and concentrates on the sausages on his plate. He’s not overly fond of sausage - at least not the ones Cook makes - but at least there’s nothing stinky or oily. Cook has a strange fondness for krauts and sardines. It’s rare that they get an entire meal without one or the other.

“Did he spout his nonsense about it being my fault in town?” 

Ah.

Julian relaxes as he understands. The anger at each other must be because the Count has decided that just this once, Julian’s disobedience is more valuable to him than not. He might not actually get in trouble tonight.

“No, sir. Even when he questioned people about what they may have seen or heard, it was short. No one wanted to talk to him longer than they had to.”

Which is a pity because Julian is absolutely sure that Geralt is the most interesting person he’s ever met. The townsfolk should count themselves lucky to get the chance to speak to him, even without the tiny little fact that he was literally trying to save their lives.

“Good. It’s a load of bullshit, of course, but the peasantry are easily led with lies if they’re told with enough conviction.”

If anyone would know, it’d be the Count, Julian supposes. The man spends most of his days spouting bullshit with conviction. There are more than a few rumors that it’s how he got his title and lands in the first place. 

His mother clears her throat sharply, which makes the Count sigh and roll his eyes. “You did your duty today, making sure the Witcher didn’t besmirch the family honor and speeding along his process. In the future, do not disobey your mother.”

Then he made a face at his wife as if to say ‘There, satisfied?’.

Her sour expression says that she isn’t, but she never really is. 

“Yes, sir.” Julian replies quietly, knowing that it’ll be easier in the long run if he just gives ground here. He has no intention of obeying tomorrow, but tonight he can pretend pertinence he doesn’t feel. “I’m sorry, mother.”

Just like she pretends to believe him. “You served your father well, I suppose. It’s forgotten.”

Forgotten, not really. Forgiven? Never.

He isn’t sure when he became so resigned to this empty playacting, when it became the better option to trying to please either of them or win their affection. 

He just knows how very much he longs to escape it.

~*~*~

Julian doesn’t have to break any rules to see the Witcher the next morning. Geralt comes to him. Sort of.

He can’t slip out in the morning because his mother is actually being vigilant for once. She has his tutor summoned and spends a truly unfair amount of time railing at the girl for being lazy and any number of other things which basically boil down to being poor.

Neither of them take kindly to it when Julian tries to interrupt in the tutor’s defense. 

Thankfully, a commotion in the courtyard manages to snag everyone’s attention before either women have the opportunity to take their anger out on him.

Outside, Geralt is shoving past Captain Gregorevich dragging… a tree? Dark liquid stains it in a few places where it looks like branches were haphazardly chopped off, looking more like blood than any kind of sap he’s ever seen.

Oh. Julian can’t help but hurt just a little in his heart. The Leshy.

He’d hoped that Geralt could save it from the cruelty of Lettenhove.

“What is the meaning of this?!” 

Julian jerks sharply out of the way at the angry voice behind him as the Count comes storming out of the door. 

The question is probably close to the dumbest thing that could be asked and Geralt pauses a few strides away from where they’re all gathered and shoves the woodsy corpse between them with an arched brow. “You hired me to defeat your monster. I did.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence before the Count manages to force a more jovial look on his face. “Of course you did. That’s what Witchers are for, after all. Come, come, let’s get your payment so you can be on your way.”

“You should bury this on the forest line. It might stave off the inevitable decline for having lost the Leshy. For a while, at least,” Geralt offers, stepping around the corpse to follow. 

The Viscount scowls at him, pretended affability dropping as he stabs a finger in Geralt’s direction. “Now look here, Witcher. You did the job you were asked to do. Nothing further is required from you. And you’ll stop spouting nonsense or you’ll leave here with nothing except my guards’ swords aimed at your backside, understand?”

It’s unbelievably rude. There are people the Count absolutely hates through and through that aren’t treated so rudely.

Geralt just arches a brow at the treatment and dips his head. “As you say. No business of mine what becomes of Lettenhove.”

Though the Count peers at Geralt in vague confusion, clearly unsure about the Witcher’s easy acquiescence, he accepts the words and proceeds the group back inside after waving the Captain to deal with the Leshy corpse. 

Julian manages to stay out of sight as he follows along behind. He really doesn’t want to be dragged back into the previous argument with his mother and tutor and if Geralt is really leaving just as soon as he has his payment, then he _really_ doesn’t want to be waste this last opportunity to see his new friend.

The household disperses, only Geralt and Julian follow the Count back to the study. 

Though he’s reasonably sure he’s doing a pretty good job hiding, golden eyes meet his as Julian starts to slide neatly behind a tapestry just outside the Count’s study. One white brow arches in question and Julian just winks and shuffles slowly towards the small knothole he’s been using to peek into the Count’s business for years. 

Geralt just huffs and continues on, not drawing attention to him, which Julian is grateful for.

He peers through the knothole, watching as the Count goes around his desk to fetch a small bag of coin. “Your pay, Witcher.”

When the Witcher reaches out to take the coin, the Count’s hand tightens around it and he pulls it back slightly. He looks unnerved by the low growl that Geralt gives, but tries not to show it. “Stop telling people Lettenhove is dying. It’s a blatant untruth and I don’t need to deal with the panic and unrest such falsehood and fear mongering would cause.”

Geralt leans in close and Julian has to strain to hear what he says next. “Listen well, Count…. This place _is_ dying, whether you acknowledge it or not. You and your people are actively killing it and the only hope it had, the Leshy, is gone because you corrupted it the same way you’re corrupting the land. Ignore it if you want, but it doesn’t change anything.”

“Lettenhove has been the jewel of Redania for generations and will continue to be for generations to come.” 

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re genuinely delusional or if you’re just so selfishly intent on taking as much as you can before it dies that you don’t actually care what happens to anyone else on the land.”

Julian doesn’t think he’s ever seen the Count turn that particular shade of red. It almost seems like actual steam should be coming out of his ears.

“You are misbegotten mutant garbage and your opinion is less than useless. Leave Lettenhove at once and do not _ever_ return.”

“Gladly,” Geralt growls, pulling the coin purse from the Count’s clinched fingers easily. “And don’t bother calling any of my brothers when this mess comes back to bite you on the ass. None will answer your call.”

That’s not good, but Julian can’t really blame the Witcher. 

A noise down the hall distracts him and Julian has to dart away before his mother finds him, but that’s okay. It’s not like Geralt is going to leave without his horse. 

~*~*

When Julian slinks into the stable where Geralt is preparing Roach to leave Lettenhove behind, the Witcher doesn't look up.

Roach flicks an ear his direction, though, and Julian knows that Geralt has definitely heard him as well, but neither say anything until the horse is saddled and bags are stowed away.

Then Geralt turns and frowns at him long enough that Julian is sure that’s the most he’s going to get as a farewell.

“Leave this place,” Geralt finally says quietly, leading Roach out of the stable. “It’s going to decline and it’s going to die. The Count’s refusal to take it seriously or make any changes to the way things are…. That’ll only hasten it. Soon it’ll be swarming with all manner of monsters. You shouldn’t be here when that happens.” 

Julian smiles, wondering if Geralt knows how few people have ever expressed such concern over him or how impossible what he’s saying really is. “I’m not really sure you understand just how little choice a kid has in that sort of thing, Geralt.”

He’s smart enough that he could run away. Maybe he’d survive and dodge his father’s men and avoid all the other potentially awful fates that came with being on your own and only ten, but probably he wouldn’t.

“As soon as you’re able, then. Go. Noble sons get educations, right? Do that. Leave this place behind and do whatever you want. Don’t let these small, petty people drag you down with them.” 

It’s a nice thought and Julian can’t help but wonder. He’s never seriously considered leaving, never had any real ambition other than staying out of the way and reading new adventures.

Maybe Geralt’s right and someday he can see and do the things he’s only read about. 

Maybe there’s a better life out there beyond Lettenhove and his father’s disapproval and his mother’s frigid anger.

“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll find you again and we can have adventures together?” The more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea.

He thinks the world would seem a lot less overwhelming if he was with Geralt.

“Hmm.”

It maybe isn’t a ringing endorsement, but it doesn’t sound annoyed or aggravated either. Disbelieving, maybe. Has Geralt never had anyone want to adventure with him before?

Julian wants to give Geralt a hug, but he isn’t sure it’d be welcome. Instead, he just gives Roach a final pat and stops following the Witcher down the path. 

Maybe someday he’ll venture out of Lettenhove and find the Witcher again, but today isn’t the day to be following him.

“See you around, Geralt.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> So the monster is a Leshy/Leshen. I didn't realize one had been in canon until I saw the POP! figure, actually. oops? And I'm still not 100% sure about which sources were used and what was changed, etc etc. 
> 
> _This_ version of a Leshy is a forest god/spirit that is vaguely man-shaped in the way a Spriggan from Elder Scrolls is man-shaped. like, it is and it isn't? It isn't inherently good or evil, but it can absorb what's around it like a radiation sponge. A forest surrounded by good, hard-working people would keep a healthy Leshy. A forest surrounded by corrupt assholes will turn a Leshy malevolent. 
> 
> My source material was a combination of D&D monster manuals, Russian fairy tails, and a book called 'The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures' by John and Caitlin Matthews.


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